Nightshade Lullaby
by Pierides
Summary: In his profession partners were few and far between, friendships were even rarer; but, what bloomed between him and her was the last thing anyone expected. Jonathan/Pamela AKA Scarecrow/Poison Ivy
1. First Impressions

_**Chapter 1: First Impressions**_

Inferiority was not something Jonathan was accustomed to; Scarecrow was a superior and vain being. Thus he was not pleased as he stepped into the empty, laboratory classroom at Gotham University, glass crunching beneath his feet as he followed the lead of his men. Petty breaking and entering was not his style, but one did not simply acquire the chemicals he needed to make his toxin.

Arkham Asylum was on high alert at the moment after his escape and the introduction of the Joker to the family. He had no choice but to turn to childish thievery elsewhere and Gotham University was the only place in miles that held the necessary supplies.

He stared from the confines of his mask as he picked his way leisurely across the room. The smell of chemicals still lingered in the air. It was a scent he knew well, one that reminded him of satisfaction and success. His men busted a rear door and he stepped into it, saying nothing, but when his eyes alighted on the vials and boxes of chemicals and supplies, he grinned beneath his mask. He waved his hand and his men began to gather the appropriate materials. They gathered only what he needed; he was practical, not gluttonous. He wanted only what the preparation of the toxin required and only enough of it to produce it until the Asylum was released from lock-down.

He stood by, allowing his henchmen to do the dirty work, acting as a mere supervisor. He wasn't a laborer, that's what his men were for, so why would he think to help them? He waited until they each began to leave before he moved, but he only made it to the doorway before the man in front of him stopped.

"What is it?" He seethed.

"What's this?!"

The less than pleased feminine voice answered his question. He peered from behind the henchman before him at the woman who would dare interrupt his business. His felt his mouth twitch in irritation.

Her fiery hair was pulled back in a clip and her arms were crossed, but something glittered in her hands. She didn't seem panicked or fearful of the men around her. Jonathan glared at the back of the man in front of him. She was a woman, not a cop. She could have been easily taken down, so why weren't they doing anything? The boxes could have easily been put down and retrieved later. His attention was brought back to her, however. Her hands fell to her side and she smirked as she saw the boxes. This was intriguing. She took a step toward the closest thug, but he didn't react to her. She held no weapon, thus it didn't matter the danger her movements gave off.

"Well, if it's Fear Toxin you want," she stated smoothly, "why didn't just you say so?" Quickly her hand shot up and the previously unknown item was revealed. It was a canister. She pressed the tab down and sprayed the contents into the man's face. Instantly he shrieked and dropped the box. She caught it expertly as he crumpled to the ground muttering in horror. She leaned down and he rolled away in a panic, his cries gaining volume. Her form quivered in silent laughter.

Jonathan stared at the woman. Her gaze caught his like an acidic kiss. He felt himself quiver because standing before him was not a mere woman, but a siren of fear, whose smile only grew with the screams of his fallen man. His mind purred in intrigue at the image supplied. 'Who is this woman?'

* * *

**_I'll give you a hint; she's not an OC, at least in the entirety of the Batman universe. She wasn't in Batman Begins or The Dark Knight, however._**

**_This is a Christmas present for my friend and fellow author Nezzy Crazy Plots Inc. She wanted some nice fluff and had never seen this pairing so I wrote this for her. It is completed and I will be uploading a chapter everyday. I hope you enjoy and this chapter was was brought to you by the prompt: "Mind's Eyes"._**

**_Merry Christmas Nezzy,_**

**_Amber_**


	2. Brazen

_**Chapter 2: Brazen**_

Jonathan calmly stepped forward, appearing from behind the man. The woman watched him, her eyes narrowed in challenge and her stance tense. Jonathan waved his hand.

"Drop the boxes," he ordered, "I'll have a talk with the lady. Will you be so kind as to let my men pass without threat?"

She took a step back and Jonathan nodded. The men placed their boxes down and two of them gathered their whimpering comrade before they filed from the room. The woman watched them leave, but as soon as the last had left she swiftly turned back to Jonathan. She crossed her arms.

"That's not the kind of weapon a woman would be carrying around to protect her on the streets," he commented his hand gesturing to the canister she held fisted in her right hand. She glanced down at it.

"So it's not."

"Did you make it?"

She turned around and walked behind the desk at the front of the room. Her shadow danced across the large, electronic presentation board. She opened a drawer, attention focused there and pulled out a few, mid-sized maroon candles.

"I will not answer that," she stated simply, setting the canister to her side and placing the candles atop the surface, "unless you remove your mask, Dr. Crane. I know your face, you have no need to hide it." Her perusal moved to his burlap covered face. "I'm not afraid of scarecrows, and I'm not afraid of you."

He walked over to a display case to the side of the space, and regarded the contents, chuckling softly at her statement. "I can see you're not afraid of me."

"You are just a man, perhaps intelligently deranged but just a man." She finished moving the candles.

"Well then, Miss-"

"Isley," she ducked behind the desk and he could hear movements, "Dr. Pamela Isley."

"You are a professor," he commented casually. He saw a flash of her vibrant hair. "Yes, I have a Ph. D. in Advanced Botanical Chemistry." His mouth pulled into smirk of satisfaction. "Plant Chemistry," his eyes fell onto a dark, opaque bottle. A little vial of Chloroform. He looked over his shoulder and saw that she was still rummaging in the desk. He carefully opened the door; it made no sound. He nimbly removed the container and placed it in his pocket just as Pamela reappeared holding a small packet.

It was box of matches. "I study the chemical processes of plants. It takes Biology and much research, but it is what I have an interest in." They were very much alike. Chemistry was a strong suit of his, and the Fear Toxin was produced by a chemical found in the blue flowers that grew in Asia.

"So then, of course you would easily been able to reproduce my Fear Toxin."

She smirked and retrieved a match from the box. She struck it into flame and lit the candles. Instantly the glow kissed her face, alighting her pale complexion. "I told you, where and how I got it will not be answered unless I can see your face, Dr. Crane."

Jonathan watched the amber light crawl across her face, sparking in her emerald eyes, highlighting soft, neutral lips. Her hair glowed like a scarlet fire. He had to shut his eyes as they drank her in; he would have been a fool not to notice the beauty she possessed; her intelligence added elegance to the deal. Her personality proved she knew the power she possessed. She was dangerous.

He opened his eyes to see that she was still watching him. Her lips were pulled into coy smirk. Did she know the affect she had just had on him? Something told him, she did, and he let out a barely audible, husky sigh. He knew then he just couldn't let his crimson beauty go without speaking to her in less formal settings. He smirked beneath his mask and took a few steps towards her, holding up his hands to show he meant little harm.

"Why have my toxin?"

She gave him a mock reproachful glare, and turned around. Jonathan could almost laugh at the fortune. He reached with one hand into his pocket to pull out the Chloroform he had stolen earlier and the other grabbed a clean handkerchief from his pocket.

"Is it merely research, or are you wanting to use it for other purposes?"

She laughed. Her boldness empowered him. He never cared for people trying to one-up him, but he was enjoying this banter. Something coy lurked beneath the tenor of their words. He drenched the cloth with the chloroform and then walked around the desk.

"That is none of your business, Jonny. And you'll never know...I just called the police...well...paged them. You're not getting out of here." She once again gave a superior stare.

"Well, aren't you smart," he chuckled, but then with a strength that his figure hid, grabbed her and held her against his chest. He brought the cloth in front of him. "I'll get away, and you know, you look a little fatigued. I think a nap would do you some good. Goodnight, Dr. Isley." And he pressed the cloth to her mouth, not perturbed by her struggles. He had gained much strength since his introduction to the city as Scarecrow; he had to be intimidating in some way in order to keep his thugs in line.

Soon she went limp. He crouched down and lifted her into his arms, carrying her gently from the room.

"Get in there and get the stuff immediately, the police will soon be here, and Collins," he looked at one of the thugs carrying the one still under the influence of his hallucinogen, "you're driving."

* * *

**_Brought to you by the prompt: "Candlelight Vigil"_**


	3. Rational

_**Chapter 3: Rational**_

He felt the eyes of his men on him as he carried Pam through the house he had bought through one of his henchmen weeks ago.

"Couldn't we have left the girl at the scene? You know the police will be looking for her."

Jonathan paused a moment, "I could have, but I believe she may prove valuable to me yet. You just worry about unloading our steal and placing it in the lab; the girl is off limits."

He then continued on, ignoring the chuckles that then rose after his words. He stared down at the face of the woman in his arms as he scaled the stairs towards the master suite. She looked peacefully in the throes of slumber, a fragile little hyacinth. The door to his bedroom was ajar; he had to do nothing more than lean against it slightly until it opened far enough for him to bring her in.

He laid her carefully atop his comforter, and for the first time felt a prick of uncertainty. Was the position uncomfortable for her? He pulled off his burlap mask and ruffled his dark hair, placing it on the bedside table. He sat on the edge of the bed and observed the unconscious girl. The laboratory had been dim with the darkness of night and only the filtering moonlight. The candle had given her more clarity, but now in the orange glow of the overhead light Jonathan was afforded his first true gaze at the woman.

A pale, cream complexion. He leaned over and tucked a loosened fiery strand behind her ear and found her skin was warm and soft. He resisted the urge to repeat the action, although his fingers twitched in longing to. If her eyes had been strident in the candlelight, he could only think how they would shine from behind those lashes of hers. She didn't seem in any discomfort; her chest rose and fell rhythmically beneath her gray sweater. He nodded and then pulled away, leaving her side. He shook his head to dispel the feelings that had overcome him. He turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him and locking the dead-bolt he had placed on the outside.

A part of him felt guilty for caging the lark, but he tried his best to squash that feeling as he descended down the stairs, his path set for the basement where he would remove and appropriately stock the supplies.

He had tried to squash it, but twenty minutes into his restocking, he sighed and once again guilt entered his system. He clearly had no right taking the woman against her will. That was not his style. He did not count on petty tactics to get what he wanted. His sky eyes flickered upwards and he turned and made his way back up the stairs.

When he re-entered the room, he felt relief wash over him at the sight of her still slumbering. He walked over to her and leaned over her prone figure. One of his hands reached for her waist and slipped into the pocket of her jeans. His fingers found what seemed to be a card. His throat swelled in hope as he extracted the item; he was rewarded as he looked down at her driver's license. He tucked it back in her pocket and without hesitation picked her up once again. He would use the back door.

Jonathan Crane did not steal to get the things he wanted. Scarecrow was more sophisticated than that; he used cunning and intelligence to achieve his means. He loved the thrill of a chase, the experimentation of a method. He would fail, dust himself off, and try again. Of course, failure brought him irritation, but it was always short-lived.

Ten minutes later, he was passing over the Narrows bridge, water from the Atlantic on each side of him as he drove. Pam was in the passenger seat. He adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses but his attention flickered from the road when he heard a groan from his companion.

"Does your head hurt? One of the side-effects of chloroform is a headache."

It became quiet, he continued to drive.

"You gave me chloroform," her voice was pained.

"I needed those chemicals, I had a feeling it was either over your dead body or your unconscious one. I don't particularly enjoy murdering people, so knocking you out was the best option."

"And then kidnapping me?"

Jonathan sighed, "I'm taking you home. I found your license in your pants, and before you question me, I didn't touch you inappropriately while you were out. My tastes in women do not include the unwilling and unconscious."

"Why didn't you just leave me? I have no idea where your hideout is. What are you gaining from this?"

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. How was she able to both not be concerned that she was in a car with him and still be this sharp? It was uncanny and unbiddenly she was further sealing the attraction was he forming. What was he gaining? He was hoping that she would never figure out why he had first taken her back to his hideout.

"I wanted my heist to go smoothly, you got in the way," he took the exit he came to, "so I knocked you out. Then my workers and I took the chemicals back to the base and now here we are."

"You're just going to take me home?"

He glanced out of the corner of his eyes at her, "Yes, you said it yourself, you hold no information that is detrimental to me. This car is stolen, I can easily get rid of it. So there is nothing you could give the police to track back to me. So why not? You're no a danger to me."

He heard her shift, but nothing was said for a moment. His mind spun, however, and then he smirked. He leaned forward minutely towards the steering wheel. "I'm not wearing my mask."

"So you're not," he laughed at her awkward rejoinder. It was endearing; why snatch onto that conversation, right? He chuckled, "So, Dr. Isley, did you make my Fear Toxin yourself?"

"Yes." He hummed noncommittally, satisfied with that.

And then he said nothing as they continued on their way. He didn't even say a word when he stopped in front of her apartment building. He only reached across her to unlatch the door—the lock often caught. He felt her breath kiss his cheek, but he focused on the movement of his hand. He pushed open the door and pulled back. She unlatched herself and left, though, perhaps she had hesitated a moment.

* * *

**_Happy Christmas Eve! This chapter is brought to you by the prompt: "Seven Seas"_**


	4. Be Careful What You Wish For

_**Chapter 4: Be Careful What You Wish For**_

"They'll be here in thirty minutes."

Jonathan nodded absently to the thug as he checked the status of his most recent batch of Toxin. He placed the lid back on and his ears detected the sound of the man's retreating footsteps. He ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his glasses. His mind wandered as it often did these days. It let itself be caressed by the lips of clouds whilst he cursed himself.

Pamela Isley; the woman wormed herself into his mind more often than was normal. A flash of red would remind him of her. Her voice haunted him. Feminine, powerful; the voice of a queen. She brought his mind to sizzling clarity of nothing but her, and they had only met once. What did one do with a person who not only stimulated them physically but intellectually as well? Jonathan knew with just a look at her, that those long legs hadn't been the only factors that had earned her position. There came a point in society where beauty did not get you through; even the most corroded professors wouldn't promote a woman to the level of a Ph. D. based on appearance. No, Pamela was cunning and superior in a way that complimented his own faults of the kind.

Dr. Isley was confident. Her mannerisms and the fire in her eyes dictated she knew the power she held. She was vainly aware she was beautiful, seductive and could have many a man wrapped about her finger, but she was intelligent as well. Beauty and brains made a deadly combination, and she was aware she possessed much knowledge. She was a monarch of power, and Scarecrow was afraid of becoming a victim to this Queen of Hearts, but he longed for nothing more. And still he had only met her once. What had she done to garner his attention in the span of a night?

The sadistic little quirk of her lips, her laughter at his man's scream, the flash of challenge in her eyes, her quips. Intelligence had been her weapon against him, not her appearance. Despite the fact she had acted as a counterforce to him, she given him respect. He had been influenced of his own accord to her beauty. Elegance drenched in a lethal poison. What a cunning little vine, that wrapped around the unsuspecting oak.

Poison Ivy. It had been chemistry that brought him to this thinking. She sang to him. All his life Jonathan had wanted power. He held that now, but he was missing something: a queen.

"Sir," he was brought from his reverie by the voice.

"What?" He was none-too-pleased about it either.

"Our guest is here." Some weeks ago, he had been approached by a man, speaking on behalf of his employer. He had spoken that his boss had an interest in the Fear Toxin, and if reasonable would wish to speak to him. He had been busy then, trying to get the materials to produce some, but now he was prepared and throwing himself into business matters would help, he hoped, to get his mind away from the temptress he had met.

He ascended the stairs and entered the front room, to watch as two men walked in flanked by a thin figure. He realized immediately it was a woman, and his heart began to thud. The woman turned to him, pushing back the hood of her fashionable, emerald trench coat; Jonathan's breath caught.

Standing before him, an alluring smirk on her lips was Pamela.

* * *

_**Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you all! This Jonathan Crane musing was sponsored by the prompt: "Floating".**_


	5. The Waltz Has Begun

_**Chapter 5: The Waltz Has Begun**_

Jonathan quickly regained his composure. He tilted his head and gave her a furtive smile.

"This is quite a surprise, Dr. Isley."

"Indeed, it is," she replied.

She turned to one of her men and gestured for him. She then looked back to Jonathan, "Do you mind if I remove my jacket before we speak?" Jonathan shook his head, "Of course not. Make yourself comfortable." She removed the article and handed it to her man. She dusted off the black dress she wore and nodded to Jonathan.

"Follow me, Dr. Isley, and we can talk privately about your proposal." He turned and began to walk away; light steps seconds later let him know she was following. He led her to the basement and across his lab to a room just on the other side.

He held it open and allowed her to enter first, catching a glimpse of her bare back in the dress, which tied around the back of her neck. Her wavy, loose crimson hair brushed the top of her back.

"Now you can see, Dr. Crane, why I wasn't very happy about you breaking into my classroom. I would have had more samples to show you if you hadn't," she spoke as she took a seat at the round table in the room. She sat herself so she was facing his still standing figure.

He walked towards her, "You can't blame me for that, I had no idea you were the one requesting a meeting with me. I never would have suspected you in the first place."

"Why," she stated, eyes following him as he took the seat opposite of her, "because I'm a woman?"

"Yes partly," he conceded, "although, rest assured after my conversation with you that night, I am not surprised." She grinned and tilted her head, "I am glad I could convince you then. Most men don't suspect a woman of my appearance to be a dabbler in the illegal."

"A woman of your intellect, however, Dr. Isley, fits very well here. I am not most men, I have learned to never judge on appearances. I did not suspect you because of you were a woman on the grounds that many think a woman incapable of such intelligence. I did so because it is less likely that a woman would want a foothold in this business. Trust me, statistics made my assumption not your appearance. You look very lovely, by the way."

She craned her head to the side and regarded him coyly and his gut clenched. This was the kind of woman he would not have minded introducing to his mother, if he knew who she was. He met her eyes with an amorous stare of his own, lips twisting. "So let us begin speaking of business. Dr. Isley, what is your proposal?"

"Well, Dr. Crane," she turned her full face to him once again, "as you know I have recreated your Fear Toxin, and yes, that is a simple task, merely following a formula that is easily obtained with the right equipment, but I have also perfected it."

"In what way?"

"I have been experimenting with various chemical compounds, natural and synthetic. I have found a way of prolonging the effects of your toxin and also of intensifying them without concentrating the dose and killing the subject."

"What kind of free time do you have?"

"You'd be amazed the amount of time you can have when you know just how to blackmail the Mob right. The Joker used physical threats, explosions to get his way, but you and I, Dr. Crane, we depend on more respectable methods. You are quite the psychiatrist and I am a woman. They have something in common; depending on how well they know how to use their skills the secrets of the mind flow like ambrosia."

Jonathan leaned forward propping his elbows at the edge of the table, "And I suppose you believe we use our skills well?"

"Expertly," she agreed.

"How did you get a hold of my toxin?" He asked, pride swelling at the compliment she had just supplied him. "Unless for research purposes those flowers aren't to be brought into the United States."

"So they're not. I first got them because I was researching. You see, I wanted to learn how to hybridize them and produce a flower of the same appearance but without the danger of the hallucinogen. So I began to grow them. The University allowed me my own special greenhouse. I succeeded, but then I was just curious so I continued to grow them; you pay off the right amount of people, you pull some strings of favors in the mob, threaten a little to destroy their reputation, and you can hold quite an amount of the underworld in your hand.

"You see, Dr. Crane, I rule my people just as you do. I have strength, although as it has been seen if taken off guard I can be overpowered, but my main weapon is Fear. I came to realize I like that feeling, of finally being superior to someone. My appearance always led to crude remarks out of context, and despite my intellect I was often taken advantage of. I wanted revenge, as petty as it sounded, and when I saw my first victim writhing in fear at my hands, it was exhilarating."

Jonathan felt the air sizzle more and more as she spoke. She was becoming even more tantalizing. He wanted to be her business partner because she was apt in the field. She spoke expertly. He also wanted a chance at her being his partner-in-crime, his femme fatal, _**his**_. The chemicals were reacting and the result was a heady mixture, an aphrodisiac.

"I can also ship your goods for half the price of what you pay now. Join with me and you'll only pay of even that lower price."

"Why do you want power so much, if you've already proven to yourself your abilities?"

She grinned, "Why do you?"

He returned the expression, "I'm sold, Dr. Isley. I accept your offer." She nodded. "Then I thank you, Dr. Crane."

"Jonathan," he nodded. "If we are to be partners, then you can call me Jonathan."

She held out her hand, "Pamela."

She probably expected him to shake her hand, but he didn't. He took her hand gently and brought it up to his lips. He kissed her knuckles and then staring at her re-established his grip so his thumb rested against her palm and his fingers covered the back of her hand. He turned her hand and brought her wrist to his lips. He closed his eyes, opened his lips, and pressed them to her wrist, his tongue touching the sweet skin there in the action.

"Welcome, Pamela," he whispered huskily, eyes opened to stare into hers softly, half-lidded as he placed her hand gently on the table, fingers leaving hers, whispering across the skin. His eyes danced to see a faint pink on her cheeks and a darkening of her eyes as sapphire met emerald.

* * *

**_Food for thought as pertaining to this chapter? The Prompt, "Call Your Mother"._**


	6. The Striking Violin

_**Chapter 6: The Striking Violin**_

His office was also his bedroom, and at the moment, Jonathan sat at a desk by a window overlooking the street as his eyes flickered over the screen of his laptop. It was an e-mail from Pamela giving him the logistics of her shipment process and the formula for her improved toxins.

He leaned on his hand as he continued to read.

_Both batches have been tested and the results, I am quite certain, are to your liking, but I will allow you to test them yourself. There is something I haven't worked out, however, between the two. I don't know how to merge them together; a longer lasting and more intense toxin hasn't been perfected yet. I would like to talk with you about that. I'll be there around 7 pm, and meet you in your lab if that is preferable._

_-Pam_

His eyes glanced to the corner of the screen at the time. It was a quarter 'til. He closed the top of the computer and stood up, dusting off his slacks and making sure his white, button up was immaculate. He picked his way to the lab and was surprised to find she was already there. She turned just as he came into her sight.

"I guess we had the same idea of arriving early, you haven't been waiting too long have you?"

She shook her head. "I just got here. I guess we just missed each other coming down, but you know what they say, the best things are worth the wait."

He smirked at her. "They are. Anticipation is part of the thrill." Her hair was once again pulled back in that clip of hers. She was dressed casually in jeans. Her dark jacket had been laid near the stairs, leaving her to be a splotch of color in the dim basement with her powder pink long sleeve.

"I'm guessing you received my e-mail? I brought you some samples of the two batches to test out to your own tastes." She gestured to her jacket, which he walked over to and removed, revealing a crate half full of canisters of each. He nodded at the inspection. "I appreciate this. You are very thorough, but let's talk about your newest project."

"Ah," she walked over to him and grabbed a canister of each, "this blue one is the prolonged toxin, the orange is the heightened reaction. As I wrote, I've not discovered how to add them together. My men are not scientists. Singularly these two formulas are simple to make, but it would take more man power to produce a combined concoction because of the supervision the reaction would require." She placed the cans back in the crate.

"How much man power are you thinking?" He had to know so he could search. She laughed, "Two, you and me. Both of us know our chemistry, and I believe it would be beneficial. Then we'll know if we can truly work together. Besides, I wouldn't want to drag someone with no knowledge of this in here. Third wheels are interrupting and then how else would I be able to get you alone, Jonny?" She winked at him playfully.

In the dimness, he was sure she didn't see his eyes darken at those words. How, indeed? He grinned. "So when would you like to start?" She smiled, "As soon as possible. Winter Break begins tomorrow at the University, and I would like to ask you if you'd mind if I came to stay here at least for that time period? It would be easier for our working arrangement."

"I can have the room near mine set up for you."

"Are you the only one on that floor?" She asked.

"I am."

She picked up her jacket and began to pull it on. She placed a hand on Jonathan's shoulder, "Then I shouldn't have a problem at all getting you all to myself," her hand ran up his arm, her flesh kissing the cotton as she started to walk towards the stairs, "it'll make my job easier."

Jonathan watched her ascend the wooden steps. Which job would that make easier: her business arrangement, or the seduction of him he wasn't even quite sure she knew she was succeeding at? Yet he knew better than that. She knew she was doing it, but it still could have been unintentional; some women were just naturally flirtatious. Still, however, he was just inches away from crashing into her decadent shore.

* * *

**_Inspiration for this chapter, the prompt: "Shipwrecked"._**

**_This story was inspired by the 30 kiss community on Livejournal. I took their lists and jumbled them together to come up with 30 prompts. So this is a 30 chapter fic._**


	7. Where Truth Meets Fiction

_**Chapter 7: Where Truth Meets Fiction**_

"This is looks fine," Jonathan spoke, looking into the room, "I'll open the windows to let the smell of the cleaning solutions diffuse and you can bring me the bed linens."

The man nodded and passed Jonathan as he left the room. Jonathan entered and went to the first window, on the left of the bed and with little effort unlatched it and pushed it upwards and open. He felt the icy air kiss his skin. The night was clear, but had there been any clouds he knew it would have snowed. He sighed and then made his way around the bed to the other window and was able to open that one fairly easily too.

The smell wouldn't take long to leave, so he wasn't too concerned about the air making the room too cool. His eyes took it in, the desk on the opposite wall, a large closet to his right. It would be a hospitable room for her.

Why had he agreed to house her? It would have been a little more of a hassle for her to migrate there everyday, but it would have been a small one, hardly noticeable. Even if it was only a short stay, he knew he had just fed himself to the sharks. If she had been any other woman—he laughed at himself. If she had been any other woman, he wouldn't have become her business partner. Yet she was a danger. Working with her was both the solution and the problem. The project would test their stability for one another and create a dynamic, but it would also test him. Would he be able to work with her and not act irrationally? He had control, but Pamela was a walking test to him.

Would he be able to keep his wits, and what about her? What was she really wanting? Was she using that appeal to overthrow him? Could she mean her bold flirting? Was it a ruse?

Anger bubbled in him at the thought that she would fool him, but along with it was admiration. To be so confident, she was some woman.

The man returned and deposited the blankets and such on the bed. Jonathan took them and begin to pristinely make the bed presentable. He had always been a perfectionist, and in many aspects of his life that was still the case. As he placed sheet upon mattress, upon blanket his mind separated thought from fact.

If Pam was seducing him for her own gain, he could handle that. All he had to base it upon was she had a tendency to manipulate, surely she would not be so careless to so blatantly use it, but once again: she was a prideful woman. He too was had a gift of avarice, though. He could handle her; her coy little actions made him want to prove to her how dominant he could truly be. She could be lying, she may not be. He knew he wasn't immune, but he still had his mind. If it became obvious her intentions were malevolent, he would do away with her. He wasn't a ragged Scarecrow just yet. No, no, he had just begun to watch over his black crop, and she would either proved herself to be Dorthy or the Wicked Witch would melt and be ousted from Oz.

At the moment he knew not what she was up to. She was either flirting with him on the premise of control, this was her natural self and it was accidental as she knew no other way to act, or—his hands stilled in fluffing the pillow he had—she was flirting with him on the premise to be snared. Was she wanting to be his radiant pumpkin or was she just a crow out for his crop?

Was she furtively giving him truths or cultivating lies? He could handle either, but he was still afraid.

* * *

_**This chapter benefited from the prompt, "Lies".**_


	8. As the Glimmer Fades, More Beauty Awaits

_**Chapter 8: As the Glimmer Fades, More Beauty Awaits**_

She'd gone where?

He had no fear of heights, but Jonathan had never seen a reason to climb atop the roof of his house, or rather stand upon the balcony there.

He stood in the attic, seeing the cover had been left ajar and the ladder pulled down. He walked to it, taking the rungs, and began to climb. He pushed away the lid when he reached the top and peered from the hole, raising his head. He spotted Pamela leaning against the ivory railing. She looked out over the city.

The distant sound of cars and the musky stench of smog entered his ears and gave a poisoned kiss to his nose. He watched a moment more, thinking she had yet to notice him.

"Why is there a balcony up here," she asked, her voice thoughtful, lulling one to believe she was talking herself; her stance, however, had changed, making it clear to Jonathan she was inviting him into her reverie.

So she had noticed him? He pulled himself completely onto the roof and noticed fully how cold it was.

"It's freezing," he commenting, observing she was wearing little more than him.

"I'm fine," she reassured him, "I just moved all my things into my room. I was planning on unpacking later. Did you need something?" This time she turned fully to him, with an inquiring gaze, no playfulness present. He shook his head and came to stand beside her.

"No, I was just going to greet you, but the man who helped you carry your luggage told me you had gone to the attic. I came looking for you and saw you had come up here."

She nodded, "I saw this by chance," she gestured around at the platform. "Should I not be up here?"

Jonathan didn't answer that question, "I don't know why this is up here, I never really thought to ask." He instead answered her rumination from earlier. She laughed softly, "Not many would, I guess. Do you know how old this house is?"

"It's a Victorian."

Pamela closed her eyes, "Then I can see it."

"What?" He was confused.

Her musical laugh answered him again. "The plants. Perhaps this overlooked a beautiful garden or a forest. Perhaps there was no fields here back then. I suppose I should be thankful there is only this paved road and the flattened, green fields," she turned to him, "but I wish I could have known what this looked like before urbanization happened. Maybe it changed, maybe it didn't. I know, though, so long as you're here, nothing else will be built. You may not have done it intentionally, but you watch over this last shred of wilderness like a perfect scarecrow. And for that I thank you."

She gave him a soft smile and he saw her cheeks flush in the moonlight. She adverted her eyes. "Sorry, I'm sort of a nature freak." She shook her head. "I'll head inside now, you're right it _**is**_ brisk." She rubbed her hands on the arms of her black, turtleneck to try and derive heat.

He watched as she turned away and walked back towards the entry to the attic.

"I'll see you later, Jon. Should I come to you or will you come to me?"

"I'll come to you. You just got here." He answered and watched as her form descended into the attic.

He looked back over the city, and his lips pulled into a soft smile. Had he just met the real Pamela Isley? Or was it just another of the many facets of her? Could she be softly feminine and yet sultry at the same time? His chest stirred, somehow thankful that he had seen her smile so naturally, saw her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

Perhaps she was letting her guard down, giving him trust. If so, he would do anything to protect that.

* * *

_**The prompt "Urban" provided inspiration for this chapter.**_


	9. Squabble

_**Chapter 9: Squabble**_

Her sigh broke the silence. There the two of them sat, across from one another boring holes into the work table with their glares. Had Jonathan really paid attention he might have laughed. The irritated glare on her face matched his. Well had Jonathan been in a better mood, he might have.

He was irritated at her, and he knew she was irritated at him.

"You're being irrational," he muttered.

"I'm being irrational," Her head shot up and she glared at him, "I followed your directions! I added the chemicals you wanted. Now you tell me, Crane, how I'm responsible for the beakers blowing up?!"

"You didn't watch them well enough."

She leaned back and snorted, "Well excuse me for running my own batch, which let me tell you hasn't exploded yet. I literally turned around to make sure mine were still at a steady temperature and they just shattered. Aren't you the least bit concerned?! Instead of worrying about a spilled formula—I can get plenty more...Instead of worrying about that, you could at least ask if I'm alright, you know. Glass shattering, I could have been cut, poisoned; hell I could have lost an eye or something. But you're just brooding because a few beakers broke. At least I told you and cleaned up the mess. I didn't have to, you know. _**Sorry**_, I didn't want to break anymore or have you risk hurting yourself."

"You were still cleaning it up when I got down here, and at first you lied about what had happened. You told me the formula would be stable."

"That's why I lied. I was sure it would have been. I was embarrassed; I must have done the calculations of the equation wrong. I let my excitement get in the way, I just wanted to prove myself to you. You've been taking my word, without asking demonstration and I go and mess up the first batch you requested I try. I didn't want to admit I was wrong, but I didn't think it through. Not doing that must have made me look even more incompetent." She wasn't crying, but she was berating herself. She stared up at him, "But I did watch them carefully, I really did just turn my back when they exploded. They seemed stable."

He was silent, he didn't say anything he just sighed, feeling the anger leave him steadily. "I don't need you lying to me."

"Well, I don't need you getting angry at a few beakers breaking. It happens all the time in science, you know that."

"I was angry because you lied."

"Then the next time, I'll tell you what really happened, and if you get angry, just tell me the real reason why instead of focusing on something equally irrational, okay?" Her eyes was focused on the table though and he saw the uncertain expression kissing her face. Was she afraid of there not being a next time? "Alright," Jonathan nodded, "we'll both be truthful. We shouldn't be partners if we can't be, right?" She looked up and nodded, "Should we try it again? Maybe I added too much of one chemical, measuring them can be tricky sometimes."

* * *

**_"Outside the Norm" was the prompt for this chapter...I decided that fighting between these two was outside the norm so far in the story, so here ya go. Enjoy!_**


	10. You've Been Struck by a Smooth Criminal

_**Ch. 10: You've Been Struck by a Smooth Criminal**_

"I bet you're wondering why I requested to meet with you so out of schedule."

The familiar sensation of burlap against his face and the scent of his sweat brought a smile to him. His voice, despite it's altering as result of his mask, even accounted some of the excitement that taken root in him. He stared at the man before him, a Mr. Anissa: the owner of the company he used for shipping in his drugs to sell to the various cartels and a Gotham Mob member.

Jonathan thus intimidated? Never. The number of body guards didn't matter to him. He grinned lavishly beneath his mask; he had his own security, and he wasn't talking about his own men. His right hand was shoved in his pocket. He looked casual, but he was fingering a switch lying in there.

"Mr. Anissa, when you first approached me about continuing my operation, I thought your price was fair, but I've recently been offered a better one."

He watched the elder man grin at the statement and stare at him in amusement as Jonathan stood there carelessly. He let out a laugh finally, pointing a hand at him.

"A better price? I believe you and I could negotiate an even better one, hm?"

Jonathan shrugged his shoulders, and his tenor relayed his own amusement at the man's words. "I highly doubt you could do better than half."

Mr. Anissa had been drinking a drought of white wine. He sputtered.

"Half?! They cut it in half?!" He was silent a moment. "You bluff, and it's a sore one." The men at his side tensed up, aiming their guns at Jonathan. Mr. Anissa fixed him with a rather poisonous glower. "Who would be stupid enough to cut the price in half?"

"Red."

At the simple mention of the name Pamela had told him to give if asked questions, he saw the whole party pale. Hands began shaking and Jonathan watched the quiver of the weapons in the grip of the guards.

"You know Red?" Mr. Anissa's voice was a stutter.

Jonathan snickered. "Red told me and I quote, 'It better go smoothly or I'll reveal the truth behind the Charles Synthetic Inc. Explosion.' You'll probably understand that more than I do." And that was French in Jonathan's book for 'See how threatening you are? Kiss my ass.'

Anissa laughed nervously. Apparently he understood it quite well, "So you're taking your business elsewhere, eh? You move onto bigger and better things, then Scarecrow. I wish you good luck, my friend. You win some, you lose some, right? You have a good night and give my regards to Red, huh?"

"Oh, I'll be sure to do that."

Jonathan turned and picked his way to the exit, intrigued they didn't try to shoot him with his back turned. He allowed his boys to file out and watched as they placed on their breathing masks. He threw a glance over his shoulder; his mask was working well.

"You all just be sure to scream loudly for me." He pressed the switch in his pocket. The door closed behind him.

He left the scene laughing, a symphony of horrified screams his departure music.

* * *

_**How this was inspired by the prompt, "Never Pay More for an Acquisition than You Have to" I have no idea, but it was. Enjoy. I really Jonathan in this one. He can handle himself and throw in some Fear Toxin, and it's a party!**_


	11. Golden Pennies for Your Thoughts

_**Ch. 11: Golden Pennies for Your Thoughts**_

He knocked on the door to Pamela's room.

"Come in," she called, sounding distracted.

Jonathan opened the door and peered in at the woman. She lied on her bed, her pine comforter pooled at her waist. She was reading a book.

"I thought women read those trashy romance novels." He stated and leaned against the door, cocking an eyebrow as he smirked.

She glanced up from the her book, an anthology of plants. She met his expression and closed her book. "Those are for Tuesdays. I read a pilfered Psychology textbook on Mondays, my romance novels on Tuesdays, this," she placed her book at her side and tapped it, "on Wednesdays. I read nature essays on Thursdays, and Shakespeare plays on Fridays. The weekends I draw lots."

The smirk on her lips told him she was joking, but he played along, "Do you really do that?"

"Of course not, that is a little scary, but have read a little of each; it just depends on what I feel like. So what about your night? You're in a very chipper mood; I guess firing Anissa went smoothly?" She sat up and leaned forward to listen.

"Yes, very much so, especially after mentioning that code name of yours."

Pam laughed, "Did you really have to use it?"

"I was interested to see his reaction to it. It was intriguing. What did you do to that man to make him so afraid of you?"

"As humans we are meant for error, and the people of the mob have a reputation to uphold. If a person gets a hold of any damaging information the operation is in jeopardy. Control is needed. I just took that fear and used it to my full advantage. I'll tell you everything I know. You see I love your fear toxin, Jon, but as a woman I own something even more potent: my sex. Sometimes I play a hapless victim to lure them into false security before I spring my trap on them. Most men can't stand to have a more intelligent woman by his side, but you think women want an equally dim-witted man? Sex appeal, research, rhetoric; those are my naturally produced Fear Toxins. Men are inherently afraid of women, not that they should necessarily be.

"We have rather base needs. Warmth, clothing, affection. Yet I admit times have challenged, but we just like roses want to be cultivated and nurtured. We want a man who is interested in us and has common sense. The age old question: What do women want? That philosophy that kisses the male mind into panic. Would you like to know the answer to it?"

"Men are afraid they will displease women?"

Pam grinned, "Yes, and don't deny it. Even you, the Master of Fear were you to meet your equal would be afraid of somehow neglecting her in someway. Women have no idea what they want, because such things are ever changing. We want nothing more than to be loved, to awaken every morning to a man who will look at our faults and accept them. Men are afraid of their feelings. Women are too, but we shrug off the cloak of uncertainty because we've learned that expression will get us somewhere, most men are unaware of that. I'm not talking about being lewd, either. Maybe we do ask too much, what do you think? My ideas are old-fashioned, I know."

"Love and be loved in return?"

"That's the idea. We're aware that this is the real world, arguments will happen, life isn't always rainbows and chocolate. Men can't always know what's on our minds, but we appreciate their tries ,we really do. Men don't have to do anything special to snare us, trying is enough, even if they fail. Acceptance is always the first step to anything. And I believe I should apologize. I didn't mean to get into this kind of rant with you; I was making one point and decided to make another."

Jonathan shook his head, "I enjoyed this, but I do have a question."

She was placing her book on her beside table, "And that would be?"

"What about women; are they afraid of men?"

"Absolutely. We fear displeasing our chosen partners too. We dress to emphasize ourselves, put make-up on to enhance our best features. Women don't know what men want, but I have a theory."

"What is it?"

"That we want the same thing: just to be loved. Flaws are expected, but it's a base need. Everyone will at some point in their life fear solitude. Not to tell you to buy into any sort of religion, but why do you think there are two sexes? Why in every story of the beginning is there a man and woman? We were made to be together, and fighting that destiny is useless. Instinct is never a crime in passion, it only gives it spice; makes it more interesting."

* * *

**_"Paranoia" was the prompt for this chapter, although it really doesn't show. Oh well, enjoy and happy New Years! _**


	12. Utterly and Completely

_**Chapter 12: Utterly and Completely**_

Jonathan was checking on the latest mixture he and Pam had synthesized of the Dual-Toxin when the red-head herself came flying down the stairs. Her hurried footfalls gained his attention, but it was her sour expression that brought him the most inquiry. She didn't seem frightened; no she was furious. She walked up to Jonathan who rose an eyebrow at her, nonverbally showing his interest.

"There's a rat amongst my men," she muttered, and then met Jonathan's gaze. "The Chancellor of the University requested I come to his office after I had finished calculating the final grades for my classes today. Somehow he found out about not only my crop of hallucinogenic flowers, but also about my experiments. Not with you, I mind you, but that I had created the Prolonged and Heightened formulas. I'm thinking a little phone call to my men will suffice. None of them know I'm here, so they can't rat us out, I made sure of that. I don't trust a lot of people."

Jonathan listened to her. He couldn't blame her for being incensed, he would have been too, but he chuckled.

"Well, at least no more harm was done with their discovery. You've already moved all the plants here."

And indeed they had. Pam had spoken of the convenience of placing a greenhouse in the back yard of the house not long after her arrival. He had then sent his men out to get and construct one and immediately moved the sapphire flowers to the location. What a kiss of irony.

Pam nodded, "Yes, and he was not happy to find no traces of those plants in the University sanctioned greenhouse, but he found a canister of my toxin. He made one mistake, though, he didn't arrest me when he should have. I acted confused and picked up the toxin, turning it over, questioning how it came to be in my chemical storage." She shook her head and Jonathan watched her laugh. Whatever she had done next—he wanted to know. She opened her eyes and stared alluringly up at him through her lashes.

"He actually believed me," she mused, "it took all I had not to spray him, but he and the security guards got their just desserts. I told them that maybe it was one of the students and that they should check my classroom thoroughly for any evidence. I played the role of a helpful teacher, but as I left I set a case of my Prolonged Toxin out, on a time-release circuit. As soon as they walk in, oh, about now...they'll be in for the nightmare of their lives."

Jonathan saw her bite her lip, "Laugh," he entreated, "you did superbly."

And she did, malevolent, musical laughter that sang of sadistic pleasure. It was then he realized he was attracted to the whole of her. Her moods just had different reactions. He loved her philosophical, innocent, and sadistic. When she stopped she was still grinning.

"I'll be untraceable by the time they regain their senses. I got rid of my car, moved the rest of my things here," suddenly she frowned, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you in advance, I shouldn't-"

He placed his hands on her shoulders and stared down slightly at her, "Urgency outweighed the need to inform me. You're welcome here." He couldn't be mad at her for just putting herself under his care; he was too busy fighting off the urge to back her against the worktable behind her and show just how much he enjoyed the clever, callous nature she had just personally proven she possessed to him.

* * *

**_"Ironic". I suppose for this chapter that prompt may be represented in different ways. I hope you enjoy._**


	13. Unexpected

_**Ch. 13: Unexpected**_

He shut off the water in the shower and opened the glass door. He was greeted with wispy, humid stream that filled the bathroom and kissed the mirrors with fog. He grabbed the towel from the holder to his right and scrubbed his dark hair, to remove excess water before wiping himself off and wrapping it around his waist. He walked across the tile and opened the door.

He heard the quick footsteps just as he pushed the door open slightly. He grabbed the handle and flung it open; his men knew better than to come into his room when he wasn't there. He glared into the room, but his eyes widened when he saw Pamela frozen in his doorway.

At first it was because she been caught, but he saw her eyes then trail his figure. Her cheeks darkened and he saw her unconsciously lick her lips. He only needed his glasses for reading, so he had no problem seeing her.

"Can I help you?" He asked casually.

He would have been more awkward had he not seen the once-over she had given him. It was clear she approved. Jonathan wasn't muscled so much as just skinny. He had always been of a rather non-intimidating bulk, but his days in Arkham and his business now with dealing with the mob and eluding Batman, had given him some tone.

She raised her gaze to his eyes, "I had no idea you were in the bathroom. I was going to look and see if you had some unopened soap I could use."

He concluded she had probably just gotten in there after he had turned the water off. He moved to the side to allow her entrance into the bathroom.

"It's in the cabinet to your right, over the vanity sink."

"Thanks," she said and awkwardly passed him. She paused in the doorway, "Wow, this is nice, can I bathe in here once?...uh, do you mind if I look at your bathroom after I get my soap? You can get dressed."

He grinned and she shut the door behind her. He quickly, pulled on his clothes—that was the awkward part for him. Worry about her coming out before he was dressed, but once he got his pajama pants on, he slowed down. He had just thrown the t-shirt over his head when she left the bathroom.

"Thanks for the soap, sorry I intruded."

"You're quite alright, Pamela."

She took in his attire, "That's the most casual I've ever seen you dressed. You're always dressed professionally, you know. You always wear a pair of slacks and a collared-shirt. Do you own any jeans?" He gave her a bemused look, "I do."

"You should wear them more often. I think you look very nice always dressed up, but I think it'd be refreshing to see you in jeans. Not everyday requires a strict dress code." She walked over the door and

smiled, casting a glance back at him, "Besides you'd look cute in a pair of jeans."

* * *

_**The prompt for this chapter was "Unexpected". It was a perfect name was I kept it. Enjoy!**_


	14. Just a Breath Away

_**Ch. 14: Just a Breath Away**_

Six days had passed; the man they had drugged was still muttering. It was finally curtailing, but it was obvious that he had little of his sanity left. Jonathan glanced at Pamela who stood beside him as they watched the man. They had contained him at the beginning and his reactions had proven that a good idea. The test had been amazing. The results were wonderful.

"It worked," Pam smiled, "too bad he's too gone to take another dose."

She mock pouted and turned to stare at him fully. He glanced back the man.

"It is a pity," he smirked, giving a sigh, "but the results were excellent. We'll have to keep this formula for emergencies, though. As fun as a city-wide panic would be, I don't think even you or I would want _**that**_ many people losing their minds."

"Yeah, I mean fear is intoxicating, but eventually it even loses its enthrall. Should we work on an antidote or leave it up to the big wigs of Wayne Corporations?" Pam asked, the last part a joke. "We can't make Batman's job too easy," Jon laughed, shaking his head, "I wasn't thinking of pouring this on the city, no, no. I think this formula should be a special present for all those who oppose us."

Pam laughed with him. When her laughter quietened a humble look came to her face and she held out her hand, "It was a pleasure working with you, Dr. Crane." He took it and shook it firmly, "The pleasure was mine, Dr. Isley." He remained holding her hand, watching as her cheeks became rosy. Was she thinking about the last time he held her hand is his grip? She still met his gaze his, though. "We make a good team, huh?"

She took a step towards him as she posed the question. Jonathan nodded, "A wonderful team." He dropped her hand and was surprised when she hugged him, arms weaving beneath his blazer.

"I can't believe it! We did it, Jon. We made the toxin. I was afraid it would be impossible to perfect; sometimes things just don't work out that way, but we succeeded. I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you, I mean it, Jonathan. I know our start was rather odd, considering, but I really enjoyed working on this with you."

His chest warmed at the excitement in her voice. He could see it shining in her eyes as he inclined his head slightly. He smiled down at her, seeing an equal one grace her face, but his attention was diverted when he heard the stairs jostle. He glanced to the side.

His man came into view and Jonathan turned his head. He was about to say something to him, when he felt it. He gasped as Pamela placed a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw. He felt her arms remove themselves and her warmth retreated. If he hadn't moved his head—would she have—had she been trying to? His eyes narrowed at his man.

"Boss, I came to get the man, he ready to go?"

"Yes," Jonathan replied sharply, "now get him and leave." The guy quickly came down the rest of the stairs and rushed to the observation cage. Pam went to his aid,"I'll go with you to drop him at the Asylum." Jonathan gingerly touched the place on his jaw where her lips had been. He was silent, but his eyes said it all. His heart was fluttering.

* * *

**_Oh, so close, Jonny. So close...The prompt, "Look Over Here" provided a nice little inspiration for this chapter._**


	15. A Lilac Step Forward

_**Ch. 15: A Lilac Step Forward**_

Light spilled into the dark hallway from Pamela's door. Their partnership as scientists had ended days ago, and he quite recalled the touch of her lips to his jaw. His hand retreated there once again. The end of their working relationship also meant that she had no more reason to truly be there, but did she have any other plans? He neared her door, hearing her humming lightly; he heard a drawer close and shifting.

He entered her doorway and stared in at her. His eyes went wide, but then he shut them tightly. The image, however, was still reflected even behind his eyelids.

She stood in front of her vanity, her back turned to him, but what he couldn't see from the back was reflected in the mirror. Her damp, hair was fastened behind her head and encompassing her body was nothing but a towel. The long expanse of her legs was revealed as the cloth came very short of stopping mid-thigh. The blue fabric, covered the swell of her bust, but not without a tantalizing view of her cleavage.

He approved, immensely so, but it was inappropriate especially doing so without her knowledge.

Jonathan adverted his stare to the opposite side of the room before he opened his eyes again and cleared his throat. He saw the movement at the corner of his eyes, but the shriek of surprise was what told him he had gotten her attention. He felt the heat of his face as he flushed.

"I'll let you get dressed," he said and grabbed the door handle, shutting it as he backed away.

A few minutes later the door opened and Pamela shyly peered out into the hallway. She blushed prettily when found Jonathan waiting to the other side of her door.

"You can come in now," she said softly.

He followed her in, admiring her figure behind the lilac nightgown she wore. This woman was teaching him to appreciate the human form, and especially her own special variety of it. She was so delicate and yet so bold. She turned around and he quickly met her gaze.

"Sorry about that, I forgot about the door, and I wasn't expecting anyone. I thought you were in bed." She quickly began.

"I should apologize. I should have announced myself earlier," he reassured her, but then decided to diffuse the situation further by getting to the point of his visit, "I came here to speak to you about something that has bothered me for the past couple of days. You and I have succeeded in making the Dual-Toxin, and thus our business partnership of that kind as become voided, but with you on the run now for attempting the harm of your colleagues, I wasn't sure if you had anywhere to go or if you would like to extend our partnership, two minds are better than one," he sighed. "What I am trying to ask is, would you like to stay here, that is if you've not found somewhere else yet? You're can stay as long as you wish, and I wouldn't turn away the proposition of working on more projects with you."

"I don't have anywhere to stay, actually. You know, I was wondering the same thing with our toxin finished. I just wasn't sure when to bring it up." Jonathan watched her. "So would you like to stay until you find a place?" 'Forever's fine too," his mind added. She nodded demurely and he smiled. She had changed since her arrival there. The Pamela Isley he had first met had been cunning, manipulative, and steel-tongued towards him. She still remained that way, he had witnessed it when she spoke to others. Now, though, she was softly feminine around him, acting as a woman normally did around the opposite sex, especially, his mind added unbiddenly, towards those one wished to attract.

"Then you're welcome here, Pamela. Before I go, though, may I ask you another question?"

"Yes?"

"When I first met you, you were bold and confident, and not that you've lost that, but you've changed. You act more soft and gentle now. Tell me why." His voice was soft, not demanding.

She flushed, "I expected you might have noticed," she tilted her head. "It's a mask I guess, I wear it when I'm not sure if I should trust a person. I act domineering, manipulative, and it comes out more with the opposite sex. I expect you also understand why that is. I only let it fall once I find I can trust a person." She smiled wistfully. "Not many have made it past that exterior."

"So I'm trusted?"

"Our interests are mutual, and I think that were you to mean me any harm you would have attempted it already. If I made you wonder my intentions at first, good, but I never meant you ill. You never truly gave me a reason to, even if you did kidnap me the first time we met. You took me home, and I knew then, but I still had to be sure so it remained for a while."

"Thank you, Pam." He nodded to her, and turned around. "You sleep well."

She replied in kind and he steadily made it back to his room. Appreciation and adoration clutched at his heart. She had let her mask down for him. She genuinely trusted him, and he discovered that this pure emotion was one of the best feelings in the world.

* * *

_**The prompt for this chapter was "Shriek/Shout". I love the softer, less action filled moments between these two. If I had to find a color for it it would be lilac like Pam's gown in this chapter. Gentle, soft and no rush. I am loving this couple the more I write them. Enjoy.**_

_**Also, I have noticed something that's a little disheartening. I've not gotten any reviews for about 3-4 chapters. I have this story completed, but I write purely for entertainment and if I'm not serving my purpose I would like to know why. Is my story not to the liking of you readers? Please, I'm still an amateur writer and I need encouragement and critique to get better. I will continue to upload, but without reviews it's rather a bland experience. Thanks to those of you who have encouraged me before, I hope life and not my story has halted you from your wondrous feedback. Have a great day. **_


	16. Rain and Cuddling

**_Ch. 16: Rain and Cuddling_**

He wasn't quite sure what awoke him at first. He could distinctly hear the quick, sharp pattering of rain on the roof. The day had seen the heaviest rainfall of December thus far; the city had warmed just in time for clouds that had once been laden with snow to pour water instead on the streets. Rain always made Jonathan sleepy, and with knowing that he focused on it to fall back asleep; he had only been half-awake anyway.

He shifted slightly to regain a comfortable position, but the bed moved a little too much. He cracked his eyes open and in the darkness he saw the figure pulling blankets over herself. It took a few bleary seconds for him to realize who it was.

"Pam, what are you doing," his voice was thick with sleep, but the confusion and underlying panic was evident.

He saw her stiffen, but she pulled the covers tighter to herself before her voice cut across the rain-kissed silence.

"I'm sorry I woke you, but my roof is dripping...I can't sleep with the constant drumming of my floor."

"I'll get one of the men to fix it later, the roof probably needs replacing anyway." He said, his heart slowing for the most part. He had to admit, though, he was rather disappointed she wasn't sneaking into his room for another reason. She was still in his bed, however, and that caused him butterflies.

"You don't mind me being in here, do you ? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Jonathan reached out and found her hand, squeezing it lightly, "We're adults, even if this is a little odd, I'll survive. Goodnight, Pamela." He let her hand go and turned over.

"Sweet dreams, Jonathan."

He smiled and soon found himself asleep again, his body relaxing fairly quickly despite the circumstances; he supposed it was because her reasons for being there were innocent. It was early dawn when he began waking, finding a slight weight on his shoulder and himself rather cozily warm. The soft scent of violets also filled his nose. He made some sound in his throat, not totally awake and with the warmth and scent around him rather prepared to sleep a little longer. He turned over, throwing his arm around whatever it was and burying his head in its hair as it cooed and snuggled closer to him.

Wait a minute, hair? Snuggling? He stiffened, but didn't move his hand. He slowly opened his eyes, the dim morning light, not irritating to his adjusting sight. He peered down at Pamela who had curled up to him in the night. He couldn't find himself complaining. He relaxed for a while just watching her sleep.

Sleep mussed, crimson waves and such relaxed features: she was so vulnerable, so radiantly feminine. He brought a hand to her cheek and caressed her jaw, careful to not wake her, but unable to stop himself. The road of fear had led him to her, and though it was not golden yellow he couldn't find himself caring. All he knew was he wouldn't protest to waking like this more often.

He snuggled closer to the woman, selfishly cuddling her without her knowledge. She sighed in her sleep and he smiled softly. What did one call the companion of a scarecrow finally tired of solitude?

* * *

**_Prompt for this chapter, "The Road Home." Jonny, you are just adorable! Yes, cuddle with her, but you're either going to have to get up or fall asleep again before she finds out. Not that I think she'd mind either, but you're afraid she would. Cute! Enjoy guys!_**


	17. Surrendering to Poison

_**Ch. 17: Surrendering to Poison**_

Jonathan blinked from beneath his mask, glad that his starstruck expression was hidden by the cloth. He had never expected this. He had asked Pamela earlier if she wanted to come with him to discuss matters with the mob, who weren't too happy at him. Not only had they lost business with him as their shipping provider for the drugs, but he also no longer needed them to even bring in the flowers.

He had gone to the chosen place, costume donned, and was met with the disgruntled band. Of course, Salvatore Maroni headed the "discussion", which more or less were threats. Red, although, a force they should he afraid of, Jonathan learned they had never actually met. Their fear was waning of the enigma. Still, however, Jonathan wasn't frightened of the mob; they were merely a bunch of scared thugs. Pamela absolutely loved the idea of finally showing her face, and told him to go ahead—she'd be there as soon as she got ready.

She had gotten ready alright.

The whole room went quiet when the back door opened in the rear of the restaurant. Then came the sharp intakes of breath, Jonathan included, when she stepped into full view.

Pamela wore a pair of black flat-soled boots that crept up to her thigh. Yet even with those long shoes she still bore a enticing amount skin. The emerald dress she wore fitted tightly around her bust, leaving a small hole to reveal another hint of skin before it fit the rest of her body like a glove, stopping two inches beyond her hip.

"Hello, gentlemen," she practically purred and with the grace of a feline sauntered up beside Jonathan.

Her hair was pulled back in a ribbon, and a blue flower accented the style. Jonathan drank her in and without a word his arm shot possessively around her waist, one of her hands, clothed in a green glove touched his lightly.

"You look beautiful, Red," he commented aloud, loving the contrast of the dress with her black overcoat.

He turned to the mobsters, "Yes, this is Red, or do you need a demonstration?"

It seemed they were disbelieving. Two men shot out from amongst them to subdue the girl who had chosen sides with him. Jonathan let her go in order for her to fight.

"How's a girl like you, fall for a guy with a potato sack on his head?"

Pam laughed at the question, posed by Maroni and evaded the swipe of the two men. "Well, he's got style, and he's pretty cute under that sack." She evaded again.

She backed up with every charge, and it would have appeared she had trapped herself as her back met a wall. The men chuckled.

"Poor little flower girl, trapped."

Pamela smirked, "That's right, call me Poison Ivy. I look innocent, but to those vulnerable I pack quite a punch." She lifted her arms and within seconds the two men fell backwards screaming. She had gassed them with a canister of Fear Toxin she had been toting in her coat.

She waltzed to stand between them and threw her head back laughing, "That's what you get for judging a book by its cover. Now, now," she turned to the Mob, "this is my coming out party, and I heard you're being mean to me. Is that right, Scarecrow?" She turned to the man, her crimson lips pulled into a pout. Jonathan walked up to her and pulled her against him, "Yes, my dear Ivy, they are. Want I should take care of them?"

Pam wrapped her arms around his neck—the two of them had been playing along with one another as soon as she had walked through the door, but it was exhilarating. "Would you, Jonny," she placed a kiss at his jawline, "just don't hurt them too badly. Oh, and boys," she turned to them. "I know all about you, all of you. Anissa and Charles Synthetics, Maroni and Hobbes Shipping, oh and let's not forget about the millions you lost, doing what? Oh yeah...but I bet you know all of that, hm? You know me as Red, but I would really prefer Poison Ivy." She pulled away from Jonathan's grip, turned, and began to walk out of the room as he watched the men, or at least it appeared so. Jonathan was really watching her departure.

"You heard what Poison Ivy asked," Jonathan shrugged refocusing, "and how can I refuse?"

"Red your girl?"

Jonathan's gaze fell to Mr. Anissa, "Yes," he answered simply and snapped his fingers. His own thugs pressed a volley of buttons on the switches they held and from the sides of the room large canisters exploded in aerosol. He turned away, attention directed outside where Pamela was most likely already gone after her quick appearance. She was probably on her way back to the house. The screams were nice, but he wanted something more.

He hadn't taken off his mask even whilst his men drove him back to base. He had hurried from the car and into his home. He opened the door and found Pamela standing in the entrance waiting for him. He loved the way her eyes were darkened after causing trouble for those Mob fools. He paced up to her and she looked up at him seductively.

His men came in behind him and paused in the doorway. He didn't care. He had enough of the blissful torture. He wrapped an arm around Pam and drew her up to him while his other grabbed his mask and flung into some corner of the room as her arms thread around his neck.

He dove on her lips hungrily, ecstatic when her lips opened for him. He poured all of his satisfaction, pride, and building affection into the action as his tongue found hers. She moaned against his mouth, fingers embedded in his hair while his pressed against the small of her back.

When they pulled away, he still held her in his arms.

"You truly were beautiful tonight, Pamela," his low voice whispered in her ear. His nose nuzzled the appendage as he continued. "I'm glad I'm not on your bad side, even if you are one of the most intoxicating women I have ever seen." He pulled back and stared into her eyes, floating back to Earth.

"Good night, Pamela." And he kissed her again before pulling away and retreating up the stairs to his room.

* * *

_**"Parachutes" was the prompt for this chapter. And finally they kiss! I wonder how long you've been waiting for this moment? I wonder how long they have? Enjoy!**_


	18. Truth from Fiction

_**Ch. 18: Truth from Fiction**_

His fingers touched his lips and his eyes, once kissed by the light in his room, closed in bliss. Hours had passed, but the feelings and memories were acute. She had been the perfect rose at the Mob meeting: beautiful, scented, but with thorns. He couldn't control himself after seeing that. They had been working together for weeks, and with each day his feelings became surer. Pamela as well seemed to grow closer to him. For himself, he knew there was no illusions. He knew how he felt, and he could no longer deny it.

She had held him close, obliged him. Jonathan opened his eyes again and ran a hand through his dampened locks. She had returned his kiss, dueled a passionate waltz with him. He recalled the firm pressure of her fingers against his skull, the sound of her breath, her approval. He remembered her taste, the nectar of a beautiful blossom. He could still feel her warmth, the feel of the cloth beneath his fingers; she had matched his passion.

Pamela wasn't lying. The confusion he had near the beginning had been banished. He no longer questioned her intentions.

Her eyes had shone when she kissed him and he could feel her affections in the kiss. His heart felt like it contained hummingbirds; quick, thrumming wings beat in his chest. He had been leaning against the wall by his bathroom door, but he now pushed off and shut it. He came to his bed and sat down.

His fingers glided over the pillow she had occupied for the period of that night when it rained. He sighed.

He built a life out illusions, and even now horrifying ones were the means of getting his power, but when he thought of Pamela he no longer wanted those illusions. Power wasn't important. What was important was seeing her smile, feeling her close to him, and just letting her know that she was really his garden.

Jonathan Crane respected the mind's power over the body, but he also knew the persuasion of the body over the mind. Strangely, though, he wished for nothing more than for Pam to be there at his side so he could hold her and shower her with feelings he now knew she returned. His body and mind had finally come to an agreement. They wanted Pamela Isley around.

So Jonathan Crane wanted Pamela Isley, and Scarecrow wanted Poison Ivy.

Poison ivy, not your typical plant—common perhaps, but not typical. It certainly wasn't a crop. Scarecrows watched over fields of corn, patches of pumpkins, farms.

Jonathan wasn't your average scarecrow. He watched over the city, worked against the underground grime. He was only out for power or he had been. Now he wanted to protect something.

Scarecrow would watch over his beautiful Poison Ivy. She seemed so innocent at first glance, but he had seen her bite. He was one of the only people immune to her toxin, or so he had thought. He had been poisoned in another way, a more heady, enjoyable way.

He wasn't complaining. He had lured her in as well and now he knew that for the truth.

* * *

_**He knows everything past, present, and future...Indoor plumbing, it's going to be big. Joking aside, now Scarecrow can fully serve his protective purposes and Poison Ivy can bloom to her full potential unhindered. "Fabrication" offered the wonderful prompt for this chapter, it was a very fortunate and fateful choice as this was a needed chapter. Jonathan can rest his worries that Pam was only stringing him along. After last chapter he has no need to worry any longer.**_


	19. We Interrupt This Tale to Bring You

_**Ch. 19: We Interrupt This Tale to Bring You...**_

"Boss! Boss!"

The combination of the repeated, loud whisper, along with sharp knocking pulled Jonathan from his slumber. He turned and squinted at the digital clock to his bedside. It was three in the morning. He was not happy about being awoken. He got out of bed and opened his door, glaring at the man on the other side.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, Boss, but someone's come to see you."

"At this hour of the morning?" Jonathan posed acerbically.

"They say, Two-Face sent them."

Jonathan's eyes widened. "Tell them I'll be down shortly." He shut the door and quickly got dressed.

As he descended the stairs he wondered what the former District Attorney could want. He straightened his collar and stared down at the woman before him. Her platinum hair was curly and her gray eyes watched him silently.

"Harvey Dent sent a woman to contact me?"

She smiled, her mouth quirking in amusement, "So he did, my name is Elaine. Don't worry I don't mean you harm."

Jonathan came to stand before her, "I am not concerned about that. May I ask you what Mr. Dent would like to speak with me about?" Elaine shook her head, "Truthfully, I don't know. He just sent me to retrieve you. He does have faith, however, that you'll understand once you talk to him." Jonathan nodded, "I see, well then, as unexpected as this is, I'll accompany you and talk to Mr. Dent. May I do something first though?"

Elaine nodded, "Of course, I'll be waiting here. You should return within the day, however."

Jonathan turned back to the stairs, "That's good to know." He went to his room and quickly wrote a note, sealing it in an envelope before returning to the entranceway. "Give this to Pamela when she wakes up," he told the man who had awoken him, handing him the envelope. He turned to Elaine, "Lead the way, Miss."

_Dear Pamela,_

_Business has called me away for the day. I should be back this evening. I didn't want you waking and thinking I had abandoned you especially with my behavior last night. I won't say anymore on it, but I promise we can talk when I return. You are in charge of the estate until then. Stay safe, be well, and know this, my beautiful Ivy: I cannot wait to return to your arms and kiss you again._

_Love,_

_Jonathan

* * *

_

_**"Messenger" was the prompt for this chapter and it was very appropriate, what better way to keep the story going than to interrupt their lives? Enjoy!**_


	20. A Lovely Return

_**Ch. 20: A Lovely Return**_

He gently opened the front door, exhaustion gnawing at his bones. He had never been more worn out by business talk than he had that day. Harvey Dent merely wanted the schematics of the various toxins. Then came a long and drawn out discussion on whether it could be more beneficial for him to either get involved with the former Arkham Psychiatrist or purchase the toxin—and with purchasing the toxin came debates on price. All of this had been intermittent with bouts of depression, anger, and basic break-downs from the former D.A. Jonathan pitied the man; there was no question of whether or not the man had lost his mind.

The house was silent and dim. The only light he could see was that of the sitting room. He slowly made his way towards it and peered in. A smile graced his features and he further entered the room.

Pamela was lying on the couch, blanket pulled around her and a book on the coffee table. She had awaited his return; he found himself touched more by this than he would have been to discover her in his bed. He switched off the light, throwing the room into darkness.

The light from the street entered the window and kissed her features. Jonathan shed his blazer and unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt. He removed his shoes and un-tucked his shirt after removing his belt. He discarded them on and beside—concerning his shoes—a sitting chair before picking his way across the hardwood floor and an oriental rug.

He leaned over Pam and tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ear and then caressed her jaw.

"Pamela," he whispered, observing her face scrunch.

He chuckled, "Pamela," he repeated and his fingers swept her lower lip. He bent down and chastely kissed her. He cupped her jaw and watched as her eyes slowly opened. "I'm home," he murmured.

Her hand removed itself from the blanket and cupped his opposite jaw. She inclined her head and gave him a languid kiss, he responded in kind to.

"Jon, I tried-"

He shook his head, "I know, Pam. You're tired too, huh?" She nodded and he kissed her cheek. He climbed onto the couch and for a moment crouched above her. "You don't have to move." He reassured her. The couch was rather plush, a large one many of the higher class bought for mere decoration, but it could house two supine people a little close, but comfortably, if they didn't mind the proximity. Pam and he didn't.

He lied behind her and curled around her figure; he was about to bury his nose in her hair when she shifted. He moved appropriately and she turned to face him. Her sleepy smile and bright eyes brought him contentment. She moved until her face was inches from his, and their noses were nearly touching.

"Can I have another goodnight kiss?"

He smiled. They engaged in another leisurely one before she snuggled into him. Her nose nuzzled the crook of his neck, he sighed in content, hand running through her hair a moment before fully embracing her and giving into the slumber that desperately called him.

* * *

**_If you didn't know it yet, I love writing fluff...and these two are certainly being used to achieve that means. Jonathan you can cuddle with her now and not have to worry if she's aware of it or not. The prompt for this chapter was "As Opposed To". Awww, these two are such cuties._**


	21. Babied

_**Ch. 21: Babied**_

He was cold; his body quivered despite the heat he was offered not only by the blanket, but also by the woman near him. He grumbled, only in the effort realizing the irritation of his throat and how his head was throbbing and his nose was stuffy. He pulled Pamela closer to him and for a moment he was alright, the presence of the woman almost enough to lull him back asleep, but he felt her shift.

"Jon, you're really warm."

He groaned and mumbled something he wasn't even sure of, burying his head into what he realized was her chest. He just wanted to go back to sleep, exhaustion still plagued him. He felt her gentle fingers press to his cheek. Then they ran through his hair.

"You're burning up," she commented and he felt her move. He let out a grumble, but that turned into a whine when she pulled the blanket off him. He cracked open an eyelid. She had the cloth thrown over her shoulder. Her eyes were worried, "C'mon, let's get you to your bed. It'll be better than this couch."

Jonathan must have taken her offer; the next thing he knew he was waking up in his own bed. He was bundled up. He could feel himself sticky with sweat, but he was still tired. He turned over and despite the icky-ness he felt, closed his eyes once again. Footsteps, however, stopped that. He twisted around and watched as Pam entered, carrying a small tray.

"Still tired?" She asked. He nodded. She set the tray down on the bedside table. "I haven't checked your temperature yet, but I know you have a fever. You basically fell back asleep when you got up here. Do have any other symptoms?"

"My head hurts," he said hoarsely and cringed, "throat too," and he coughed.

Pamela gave him a motherly look as she frowned. She touched his head and brushed back his damp bangs. "Looks like some of the cruds; your work finally caught up with you." Her ministrations as she brushed his forehead were nice. Oh, he knew she was either still babying him or about to start, but he couldn't find himself complaining. He never usually wanted to be treated so pathetically, but with Pam being the caregiver, he couldn't deny how nice it felt.

"I made you some soup if you're hungry," she gestured to the tray. "I have the guys going out to get you some medicine. I'll wake you up to take it when they get back. So, um, eat if you want, or go back to sleep." She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

He nodded and smiled sleepily. He snuggled into his pillow and listened as she left, shutting the door behind her. He stared at the tray of food. Slowly he sat up—it was probably best to eat in his condition. He took the tray and spoon and began to eat. The warm liquid felt nice against his throat and he even grinned at the glass of orange juice she had given him. His eyes strayed to the door.

Pamela was very caring to those she liked. He could see the naturalness of her maternal instincts. She was naturally giving, but held sense.

Pam would make a good mother if ever the chance arose. It had to be the fever talking, but Jonathan wondered if he would make a good father, and when he thought of that he thought of Pam at his side.

* * *

"_**If You Dare" was the prompt for this chapter, and even though I have no idea how it inspired this chapter, it somehow did. What guy does want to be babied his girlfriend? Jonny is so cute sick...and Pam is just spoiling him.**_


	22. Peas in a Pod

_**Ch. 22: Peas in a Pod**_

"Pam, are you feeling alright?" Jon's raw voice asked as he came from the bathroom to crawl back in bed.

Pam was picking up his clothes, which he had discarded when he had taken a shower earlier. She turned to him and nodded, but Jonathan saw her sluggish movements. He walked up to her and clearly saw the flush of her cheeks.

"Put the clothes down," he ordered, although in his clearly sick voice it came out weaker, but it seemed she understood. Her arms went slack, letting the clothing dangle.

"I'm fine, Jon."

She didn't sound fine. How typical, he thought, but raised his hand which had quickly risen back to room temperature. He placed the back of it against one of her flushed cheeks. His lips pulled into a frown and he grabbed her firmly.

"Jon," she protested as he used what he had of his strength to take the clothes from her hands, dropping them back on the floor, and then steered her to the bed. He released her and pointed. "Get in." She sighed, but didn't fight as much as he suspected she would. She climbed in and he followed her. It was only when she drew herself to him, head burying in his chest, he felt her shiver. So she had chills too—he knew she had fever.

He grabbed the packet of pills his men had gotten for him and handed them to her. She took them dry and curled around him. The both of them made sure the blankets were tightly wrapped around them. Afterwards he ran a hand through her hair while they both waited for their exhaustion to whisk them away.

"We must look pathetic," Jonathan mused. Pam laughed softly against his chest and he grinned, "Ah, the boys will care for us."

"They better," Pam muttered, "I feel really funny...and I want to be cared for."

He felt her lightly kiss his neck. He kissed her forehead. Two sick peas in a pod. He closed his eyes; one of his men would check on them soon, especially since Pam didn't reappear downstairs. He buried his head in her hair. Even if they were sick, he wouldn't miss the chance to unabashedly cuddle with her. The boys already knew and he didn't mind that. He smiled.

"Jonathan," Pamela whispered.

He didn't open his eyes, "Hmm?"

"Thanks for calling my bluff." His other arm which held her close rubbed her back, "I can't let you push yourself, when you should rest...You took care of me, I need to look out for you. You and I will just have to ride this out together, hm?" He felt her even breath on his chest. He chuckled and just let his mind drift away.

* * *

_**They're both sick and yet they cuddle and be affectionate with one another. I laughed as I wrote this imagining "serious" Jonathan. "Drop the clothes" and "Get in". I can picture it so clearly. Once again, d'awww...I want to pinch both their cheeks. They're too adorable.**_

_**The prompt for this chapter? "Quintessential" which means "typical". I thought it only makes sense that if he's sick, she's going to get sick too...so, there we have it. The germ cycle...ewww...Enjoy.**_


	23. She Chose Dis

_**Ch. 23: She Chose Dis**_

Jonathan paused in the doorway to watch Pamela as she worked in the kitchen. She was chopping up various vegetables at the moment and placing them in a bowl by the handful. He walked in and came to stand behind her, waiting until he was sure she knew of his presence before he wrapped his arms around her middle. He pressed his chest to her back, peering over her shoulder as she worked.

He had been pondering for sometime their predicament. They had officially been together for months now. They shared a precarious lifestyle, kissed with danger at every turn: the mob, Batman, rogue thugs. Sometimes they were even a danger to one another. One touch, one kiss sometimes almost led them astray when their minds were needed elsewhere. He couldn't come to regret it, though, he had chosen this life of dark shadows.

"What's on the menu tonight, Hyacinth," he asked her, resting his head on her shoulder.

He watched as she placed her knife by the bowl, "A salad at the moment, but I'm thinking about making some Italian-seasoned chicken."

Her arms came around his neck and she leaned back, "Does that sound good?" Jonathan tilted his head towards her and nodded, "Lovely," he dipped his head down and kissed her clothed shoulder. She picked up her knife and went back to work.

"Pamela," he said sometime later—they hadn't changed positions. She stilled in her cutting and turned her head. He sighed. "How do you feel about our living arrangements? Does it bother you that we can't walk out into a public without having the police called on us?"

"Yes, I do wish sometimes it wasn't like this. I do miss being able to walk into the mall, the supermarket myself, but Jonathan, I chose this. I can't regret it. I can only deal with it, like I should; accept responsibility. But, I told myself, I knew in the end my life couldn't remain the same, I had dunked myself into the corroded waters of Gotham, and I met you. If night is the price I must pay to be here with you, then I will." Her hands once again gently placed the knife down, and then came to squeeze his still around her middle.

He kissed her jaw, "You don't have to, though, Pam. I would never confine you to such, would never wish this for you. You can tell people I forced you to make the toxin, runaway, do what you've done. I would take the blame for you." He felt her quivering. He turned her around and saw she was crying. "Pamela," he wrapped his arms around her. She laid her head on his shoulder.

"You would further mar yourself for me? Take a blame you don't deserve," she shook her head, "I would never want that for you, Dahlia. Never. I turned rebel against the Chancellor and security. I didn't have to do it."

"Then why did you do it, Pam? I never asked—I never thought to—but you're too bright for the night." He stared at the nearest wall.

"I don't know, Jonathan," she removed her head and he turned his face to her, "I don't know, but I'm not the first woman that has chosen darkness. Persephone abandoned light for Hades." She whispered and kissed him softly. He caught her lips again as she moved to pull away, deeply kissing her. Scarecrow thanking Poison Ivy, his Persephone. He pulled away and kissed her cheeks, tasting her tears.

* * *

**_The name of this chapter is such a play on words. Dis is another name for the underworld. This was a chapter to further build strength into their relationship. I love these two! "Precarious" served as the prompt for this chapter._**


	24. No Words

**_Ch. 24: No Words_**

His fingers traced the naked curve of her spine. She shivered and a feminine giggle broke from her. Jonathan pulled her closer to him. His hand splayed against Pamela's back and his mouth came to rest at her ear. He murmured sweet nothings to her, basking alongside her in the aftermath of euphoria. He heard her reply to him, enjoying unabashedly the chance he had to drink in the sight of her unhindered, to feel the expanse of her silky skin. His hand rubbed her back as he inclined his head to look at her face and she craned hers slightly to stare back.

His other hand stroked her cheek. She stared up at him, the smile quirking her lips alighting her eyes. He realized how many things they were saying to one another, and nothing was being verbally said. He was coming to realize that sometimes words were not needed. He could tell by the shine in her eyes she was happy, could feel the adoration hum off her like a sweet melody to his ears. She didn't voice any of it, however. She didn't have to.

The way she ever so slightly leaned into the brush of his thumb across the plane of her cheek, the light kiss she gave his palm, proved that she knew he felt the same about her. Yet knowing through actions and further proving were still accepted, and yet neither of them had to ask questions. There was no, "How much do you love me?" or "Prove it." No, Jonathan nor her needed such motivation. He shifted and nuzzled her neck without guidance, placed affectionate little kisses there. Her fingers combed through his hair. Her actions guided him to the curve of her chin.

She then took over and he felt her lips grace his jaw, pepper the column of his throat. Fingers stroked his arm. He sighed, surrendering to her attentions as she had to him.

Her eyes spoke volumes of what she wished, Jonathan learned. Each lighting in some different way depending on her mood. Happy, sad, seductive. Her fingers wrote words across his skin, scrawling messages on his heart that her mouth could not form. His body posed a question and hers would reply in a way only Jonathan could understand. Their mouths even spoke without sound; depending on the placement and pressure, they communicated contentment, spurned actions on or off. Vocal chords were not needed to form sentences, sighs and other sounds of the like served fine.

Jonathan and Pamela often needed no words. They were coming to discover many of their most precious memories had none. That night had been one of them. It had been a volley of caresses, kisses, and body language that had led them there.

Jonathan closed his eyes only feeling the silk of her hair through his fingers, her warmth close to him. He laughed as she found a ticklish spot and he felt her own laughter as her fingers assaulted him again. He opened his eyes and they caught the sight of hers as she stared at him. He turned to his side and tucked hair behind her ear, hand cupping her jaw, drawing her face to his in a gentle kiss.

Scents, movements, sounds, no words. He just listened and felt as her lips responded. Their words were beats of their hearts, creating lyrics only the other knew. She pulled away from him and her face flickered with question. His hand stayed at her cheek and she met his eyes.

For a while, Jonathan didn't know the exact amount of time, they just stared at one another, faces moving little. Then she leaned down and he felt her lips at his ear, and he knew. He touched her cheek and smiled happily.

Sometimes there were no words needed.

* * *

_**This is no way meant to be graphic...This is merely cuddling and pillow talk. Inform me if you think this chapter needs a mature warning, but I just don't want to up the rating of my chapter just because of this. Enjoy otherwise.**_

**_"There Are No Words" was the prompt for this chapter._**


	25. I Love You

_**Ch. 25: I Love You**_

"Are you," Jonathan paused, "cleaning the attic?"

He had heard noises, which had brought him from checking his e-mail for letters from clients. He had followed the sounds only to find himself in the attic, watching Pamela's back as she dug through some old chest. It was rather random, not that it wasn't needed. The place had been in need of a cleaning since he had arrived there; the previous owners had left relic after relic piled in the place.

Pamela turned to him, rolling up the sleeves of her slightly, over-sized plaid shirt a little more. She laughed at his confused expression.

"Yeah, I've been meaning to get my hands on this place for while, but I wasn't sure how long our living arrangements would last. I figured, though, four months and I'm still here, I can start being the lady of the house. You don't mind do you?"

He smiled, "Yes," he replied playfully. If there was one thing about Pam, she always spoke her mind, even if it was something that could change their relationship. He knew most men took it as a big step if the woman started to keep house without being requested. It was appropriate, though; this was a big step. It made it more official, gave a feel of prolonged permanence.

Jonathan, however, was prepared to take that step. It felt right. They now shared a room, feelings; they slept together and not just in the sense of slumber—they were faithful to each other. It was about time they shared a house. It had been an agreement that she was allowed to live there until she found a suitable place.

He walked beside her and began helping her wordlessly for a moment. He wasn't sure how to bring up the subject he wanted, but when their hands both reached into a box towards an old lampshade that belonged to a broken lamp Pam had removed earlier, he saw his opportunity. His hand enclosed over hers.

"Would you like to live here? I mean, I know since the beginning of this relationship you really weren't actively looking for another place, but I thought it would be nice to actually ask you. We already live like a couple, so now you know for sure that for the time being you don't have to look for a house."

"Are you asking me to move in with you?" She asked playfully pulling the lampshade out after he had released her hand. He glared at her in mock annoyance and then grabbed her around the waist, she squealed.

"You're such an infernal woman, Ivy," he hauled her closer to his side, and declared with a smirk. She pouted, "Oh, you know you love me, Scarecrow."

He smiled gently and to her surprise, turned her around and brought her into a dip. He brought his lips inches from hers, but instead of kissing her there, they trailed her cheeks.

"That's right," he told her as if confiding a sweet secret. He brought his lips back to hover above hers then came closer until she could feel the words against her own lips, "I love you, Pamela."

* * *

_**Can I say, awww? These two get more fun as time goes on. "Lampshade" was this chapter's prompt. I realized no one had actually said the L-word aloud. So here we go. Go, Jonny!**_


	26. Flickers of Affection

_**Ch. 26: Flickers of Affection**_

He held out his hand and Pamela took the offered mug of hot chocolate. Her free hand lifted the edge of the blanket she had draped over her. Jonathan joined her, carrying his own cup; she moved slightly until she was lounging comfortably in his lap.

For some time they said nothing, just relaxed in the others presence as they sat in the parlor upon a love seat. They faced the flickering fireplace, whose glow kissed the whole room, elongating shadows in the hour of midnight. The only steady movement besides the winking flames was the movement of Jonathan's hand as it ran up and down Pamela's side.

"Do you remember our first meeting," Jonathan asked, amusement coloring his voice at the memory.

Pamela laughed, "I do. You were so...mocking. You messed with me the whole time."

"I was mocking? I recall a red-headed professor who met my quips at every turn." He smirked, eyes looking at the fire. His hand stilled. "And do you know what happened that night?"

"I was kidnapped?"

"Other than that." He stared down at her. She raised an eyebrow playfully. He sat his mug on a nearby table and without hesitation she also relinquished hers to him. He sat it down beside his and then wrapped both his arms around her figure.

"I did kidnap you, and you know at first I brought you here, and I laid you in my bed. I was crazy," he dipped his head by her ear, "crazy for you. Your confidence and domineering attitude attracted me like a moth to a flame. You were trying to intimidate me, but it only made me want to covet you more. I wasn't thinking, all I knew was that I had to talk to you some more, but once I got you here I knew I had done wrong, so..."

"You took me home." She whispered and turned her head slightly. He nodded, "I did, caging you wouldn't have gotten me into your affections, and I didn't know what had come over me. Such under-handed tactics, they weren't me, but I...I think I started to love you then. I wouldn't have called it love, but the potential was there. You were strong, bold, you knew your powers and wielded them expertly. I was afraid of you and wanted nothing more than to stay in your presence longer. I'm glad I made a clear-headed decision and righted my rash one."

Pamela laughed lightly, but it wasn't with callous. She moved from his arms and the blanket and stood before him, the light behind her, throwing contrast against her skin as she faced him tenderly. "I'm glad you did too, otherwise I may have never met the _**real**_ Jonathan Crane." She leaned down and kissed him deeply. He inclined his head and met her pressure. He reached up to her grab her around the waist and put her at a better angle, but she chuckled against his lips and took his hands and pulled him up.

He grinned and stood the rest of the way. He wrapped his arms around her and they began to sway as if listening to music. Their shadows danced on the walls, threading across the floor. Then there came a squeal, the shadows twisted. The squeal was cut short and then came footfalls. Their outlines moved.

Jonathan carried Pamela as he ascended the stairs, kissing her passionately. They disappeared soon into the hallway and through the downstairs the click of a door echoed as shadows danced in the firelight.

* * *

_**This was a chapter that I enjoyed very immensely. It's where Jonathan and Pamela remember their past and own up, in Jonathan's case to his near mistake. He couldn't allow himself further into the relationship without admitting to Pam he had almost held her hostage, but as a wise person once said, "Dwell not on the what ifs, but what has actually happened." There's no use of her worrying what he almost did, he realized his mistake and fixed it.**_

"_**Spilling Shadows" was the nice little prompt for this chapter, and it worked out wonderfully in my opinion.**_


	27. Waking Up

_**Ch. 27: Waking Up**_

He wouldn't cry.

Her mutters continued. He glanced to his side as she took a shakily breath, her head resting against the window. Her eyes looked ahead unseeing.

"No, no, you can't...please stop, please..."

He took his own slow breath. His hands gripped the steering wheel; he had to stay focused. There was no time for him to let his emotions overrun him. His mouth wasn't quivering. His breath wasn't coming shorter. And he wouldn't cry.

"I can't breath...please, stop. Let me go. Please...please..."

He could see her shaking out of the corner of his eye. Then without warning, she started thrashing. She was screaming at the top of her lungs. Screaming for whoever was her assailant to stop. Agony, pain, terror.

He was crying. Batman had sprayed her with the toxin; he had caught them during a heist, but somehow they had gotten away. Jonathan didn't care that he couldn't remember—something to do with his own thugs—all he cared about was Pam. Her cries for help, her screams of pain shattered his heart like an earthquake destroying everything in its path. He had to keep himself under control as much as possible, though. It was only the normal toxin, it had an antidote; she would be alright.

He felt helpless and guilty, despite that, though. His knuckles were white. Her screams made him doubt. Yet he held himself together as he got her home.

Hour after hour had passed after he had administered the antidote. He wouldn't leave her side, however. He watched her silent form for any sign of discomfort. His hands were clutched on the bedspread, as he leaned forward. Up, down, up, down: her chest rose and fell normally. Silence spread around them, but her previous screams echoed in his ears. He would be haunted until she opened her eyes again.

A flicker of movement beneath her lids. He gasped and touched her cheek. "Pamela?"

He had never thought her green eyes, filled with confusion would ever cause him relief, but they were a blessing from her crazed and dilated expression. Jonathan didn't care what possessed him; he climbed into the bed, to her side, and brought her to his chest. He cried again, this time in happiness.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry." He held her, rocking her form like a child. He only paused when her hand brushed his cheek. He looked down into her eyes as she smiled thankfully.

"I'm fine, Jon," she whispered, "thanks to you."

She would be fine, she had recovered in no time. Yet what could have happened had become his constant, conscious nightmare. He kissed her like she was his oxygen and his life would end tomorrow. It could, he had been reminded coldly as he had waited for her to regain consciousness. So he would cherish her, love her, and treat like everyday would be their last.

* * *

_**It was bound to happen at some point. Jonathan's had a wake-up call, but not just to how important Pam is in his life, but something else as well. Poor Jon, I had Pam poisoned, but it needed to happen. It's all been fluff, so I needed a little more drama. The fluff will resume next chapter, as far as I can recall.**_

"_**Nazca" was the prompt of this chapter. Nazca is the largest existing town in Peru. It is famous for many things including the Nazca lines. In 1996 an earth measuring 6.4 on the scale destroyed the city, but within 12 years they have completely rebuilt everything and upgraded. So the theme of disaster and a rebuilding came into the prose of this chapter, and I hope that's obvious. Enjoy!**_


	28. The Ultimate Wedding Gift

_**Ch. 28: The Ultimate Wedding Gift**_

He asked her to marry him not long after her brush with his toxin.

The small wedding two months later was a rush of nothing but words, a kiss, and his hyacinth in a simple ivory gown. The ceremony was show; Jonathan needed nothing to truly tell him that he had made a promise to accept this woman as his for the rest of his life. He didn't need a ring to remind him that he was to be chaste with all but her, faithful to her until death parted them. Yet the cool weight against his finger wasn't unwelcome, it was an anchor to the reality that he had truly gotten married to Pamela.

Pamela Lillian Crane. He turned to her as they stood on the balcony. The wedding had happened that morning and now the sun was setting. She was now wearing an emerald sleeping gown, while he had yet to remove most of the suit he had worn for their wedding. In evening light, the diamond of her engagement ring glittered and the gold of her wedding band flashed. He moved his own hand donning his own ring to cover hers. His thumb brushed the curve of her wrist. He simply watched her, at first just caught up in how much his life had changed in the course of a year.

Jonathan would never have expected to be married to the woman he had met just a little over a year ago. He had never expected to be married at all, and yet here he was. What could he say that captured his amazement at the fact someone had snared his heart so and at the same time returned the gesture so much that without hesitation they had agreed to be bound to him for the entirety of what remained of their lives? There was nothing he could say to her that told her how thankful he was, how honored he was.

He pulled his hand from hers and wrapped it around her shoulders. There was nothing he could give to this woman that truly represented how much he truly loved her. He buried his head in her hair, but she inclined her own to give him a chaste, but meaningful kiss.

"Are you even a little curious, why I asked you to come out here?"

He chuckled; she had asked him to come up there so she could tell him something, and though, yes he was insanely curious, he had waited for her to make the first move.

"Of course, my Hyacinth, but I was waiting on you," he smiled and his free hand took her nearest one, "what did you want to tell me?"

"You know how I've been a little queasy these last few days?" She asked.

His expression furrowed in worry, "You said it was nerves and excitement."

She nodded, "I know, I did too, but, Jonny, I missed my period. I'm never late," she smiled as realization hit him. She held up a free hand to signal for him to wait until she was finished. "And so before my shower I took a pregnancy test...Congratulations, Daddy."

She gasped as he suddenly lifted her few inches from the ground turning around until his back was to the horizon. He grinned and cradled her cheeks in his hands before kissing her. He had thought there was nothing that he could give her to show her the extent of his love, but he had been wrong. He held her close; she was carrying that gift. A child, proof for the both of them.

* * *

_**Jonathan really decided to love and cherish her. What better to prove that? And she just got the ultimate wedding gift. Jonathan is excited here, but you can't deny he's probably also scared as all get out. Jonathan a dad? Can he handle it? And what kind of mom will Pam make?**_

_**The prompt for this chapter was "Gown".**_


	29. Sweeter Than Apple Pie

_**Ch. 29: Sweeter Than Apple Pie**_

The timer on the oven slowly ticked away the minutes. Jonathan yawned, but his eyes stayed on the pan he was watching. It was six in the morning.

Pamela wanted pie. Luckily she had wanted the apple pie his thugs had bought a few days prior and all he had to do was bake it. It was nearly done, only about three minutes remaining. He turned his back to the oven and walked towards his lavish-sized refrigerator—you had to have one when feeding yourself, a volley of thugs, and now a wife eating for two. He opened the door and pulled out a can of whip cream. He wasn't sure if she wanted any, but it would be safe to assume in case.

His thugs just gave him knowing looks when sometimes Pam would wake him up, asking if they had a certain food. If they didn't it was him waking up one of them, and they would either grumble or laugh as they left to get it. He smiled softly as he sat the can on the kitchen bar that was in the middle of the room. He couldn't deny Pamela; that was his child and she was his wife. None of the stuff she had wanted was hard to find, either, and most of the time she was able to get the food herself. This morning, however, she was in the shower and he had just come in to use the bathroom when she asked him if they still had the frozen apple pie.

So here he was, baking it. She asked him he wouldn't mind making it. How could he?

The kitchen door opened. He didn't turn around at first.

"Jon?"

"The pie's almost," he turned around with a smile, but saw the excited look on Pamela's face, "what?"

Pamela was five months pregnant, so she quickly half walked, half-waddled to him. She had an excited expression on her face as she grabbed his hand. She placed it on her stomach. For a few moments nothing happened. Then her face lit up and she moved his hand.

He gasped in awe and his eyes widened. It had kicked him. The baby had moved. He was silent; it moved again.

The oven timer went off and he and Pamela laughed. He reluctantly pulled away from her and retrieved the pie, using oven mitts. He sat it on the bar and pointed to the whipped cream. Pam took a seat as she waited for the pie to cool.

"When do you think would be a good time to think of names?" She asked.

Jonathan shrugged, "Anytime, I'm ready whenever you are." He was distracted, though. He leaned down and lifted Pamela's blouse. She laughed as his hands touched the skin underneath lightly. He grinned, glancing up at her, flushing embarrassedly.

He placed a kiss to her growing stomach, "Hello, this is your dad. You're an early raiser, you know that?" His reply was a soft kick, the indent he could see in her skin. Pam's hand fell there and and he covered it with his own, "I think we're in for trouble." Pamela laughed, "It's your child, I wouldn't expect any less." He snickered. "Yours too. We're doomed, huh?"

* * *

_**The prompt for this chapter was "Whatever You Want; Your Wish is My Command". What better to do for than to have Pamela have cravings? And yes, Jonathan Crane and Pamela Isley's child...they are doomed. Enjoy!**_


	30. The Nightshade Lullaby

_**Ch. 30: The Nightshade Lullaby**_

Over the last four years, there were many things Jonathan could remember. He recalled a dark night in January when he broke into Gotham University, but instead of an easy getaway he had met her, Pamela Isley. The moment he had laid eyes on that woman, she had intrigued him and snared him in those poisonous ivy vines that constituted her personality.

Little did they both know he was immune to her poison: she could not deter him. Yet at the same time he was as sensitive to her toxin as a wolf is to the scent of his prey, but it wasn't to kill him. Her nectar had snared his heart, begun the subtle ripples of affection. The ripples would only grow, echo and become interrupted as the woman further spun her web—this time unconsciously. The Master of Fear, Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane; he never thought he would find a partner. Now he had a wife, and his heart had grown to encompass more.

Ian James Crane. Jonathan silently walked down the hall in the home he had bought a few months before his son's birth. They had left Gotham far behind them and instead settled in the country miles away. He was now a business man, and he watched Pamela blossom as she voluntarily became a housewife until Ian was in school. His feet made hardly a sound as did the door when he opened it, and he peered in at his son's slumbering figure.

Brown hair, little eyelids that hid his expressive hazel-green eyes; he would never know the crimes they had committed. For him they would live normally, because what need had he and Pam now for power? Before it had been a game, but they came to realize once together that life was not merely an occult thing. Sometimes experimentation went too far; sometimes the results were not to their liking. They couldn't take any risks with their gift. Jonathan feared losing Pamela and his son.

Jonathan walked into the room and crouched by the bed, smiling tenderly at Ian. He brushed back his bangs and placed a small kiss at his child's temple. The boy stirred and moved, but did not wake. Jonathan laughed softly and then stood up. He turned back to the door to see Pam looking in on him with a soft smile and a knowing look. He walked up to her and pressed her gently against the door as he gave her a kiss as well before the two of them left, closing the door behind them. Her hand was a warm presence in his. He led her their sitting room and with very little effort to their stereo system. He turned it on and soft music filled the air.

"May I have this dance?" He asked her with an infectious grin.

"I suppose," she replied back in his same tenor.

They danced, and movement became an experiment to catch the beat and express it with their swaying bodies together. He looked down at the woman in his arms and she stared up at him. He loved her as much and as intensely as the day he realized the depth and amount of adoration he had for her. With everyday the fountain of his love was renewed and widened. He loved her more, and she had to do nothing to obtain it but be herself. She was his poison ivy, a field, though not typical he would guard with his life like a caring and respectable scarecrow. She and Ian were his life now.

In their profession, partners were few and far between; friendships were even rarer; but what bloomed him and her was the last thing he had expected. Yet he would never regret it. He had fallen prey to her poison, an addictive ambrosia. He still wasn't immune now, but he'd never complain. That was love.

* * *

"_**Occult" served as the final prompt and it means experimentation, an appropriate rumination topic for Jon's final reverie.**_

_**So Jonathan and Pam are finally happy. They have a son, a new life, and each other. They learned over the course of a year how precious life was and they gave up power, fear, and Gotham for their son. Jonathan had his wake up call when Pam was poisoned. So with them now dancing, enjoying each other as they should and finally happy, I can now say happily:**_

_**THE END**_

_**Thank you everyone for joining me on this journey. The reviews were astounding and I loved to hear your reactions throughout the tale. I do hope you'll join me on my other endeavors, I have plenty of them in the works for myself, including more involving Jon and Pam and some just Jon. You all should check out if you haven't already, my one-shot "Asterion". It is a character exploration of Jonathan in lieu of another novel length Jonathan/Pam called "The Receiver" which I am currently working on.**_


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